Working on my Partner Instead of Our Project - [F22M21] [Female perspective] [Masturbation] [Long buildup] [Part 1]
My junior year of college I had one of those professors who just had it out for me. I couldn’t really explain why - I’d walked into class late once or twice and definitely wasn’t a star student, but I did my work on time. Almost all of my work, I guess. And I stayed focused during class. Most of the time.
Anyways, I failed that class and ended up having to take it again my senior year. Annoyed that I had to spend more time studying the same subjects, I vowed to ace my second run of that class so that the professor had no excuse to fail me again. And I did so, for a few weeks. Until one day we got paired up for group projects and I ended up with Jason.
The year prior, we’d done a similar project and I’d ended up paired with my friend Marissa. Which was definitely one of the reasons I’d failed last year, since we ended up laughing too hard anytime we tried to work and got one of the worst grades in the class. I’d sworn to myself that this semester, I’d crush this project no matter who I got paired with.
Initially, I was satisfied. Jason was smart, one of the smartest in the class, and not immature like a lot of the other guys. He was quiet, kept to himself, did his work well, didn’t joke around or talk too much during class. Confident, but not at all cocky. An ideal partner for a two person project.
We got the rest of that day to work together and, unsurprisingly, he was a lot smarter than me and worked a lot quicker. But, surprisingly, he was patient and kind with me and made me feel more in control of the work than I’d ever felt. Every so often he’d give me small compliments, nothing crazy, just, “nice job with that,” or, “yeah, that looks great.” The confidence boost felt nice, and I started to actually enjoy myself.
The rest of the class flew by and for the first time in my life, I felt disappointed when the professor let us know that class was over. Jason and I exchanged numbers and agreed to meet up outside of class soon to keep working. I was still putting my stuff away, basking in that little satisfied buzz of getting a lot of good work done, when Jason finished packing up, said bye, and stood up to leave. I half-glanced at him as he was walking away, returning his goodbye, and then four seconds later realized he was at the door and I’d never taken my eyes off him.
He was taller than I’d thought, maybe five inches taller than me. His hair was long in the back, almost a shag mullet that moved gently as he looked to one side. His back muscles stretched his shirt out tight. I could see his broad shoulders tense as he pushed the door open. Then he was gone. And I was still looking at the door. Half of my stuff still on my table.
I snapped myself out of it and hurried home.
That night, as I laid in bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about that view as he walked away. That absolute fucking *vision* of the flex in his shoulder as he pushed the door open. I felt lightheaded and also like an idiot. What self-respecting woman got horny from watching a guy open a door?? Me, apparently. Embarrassing.
Two days later, we were in class again but not working on the project. It dragged by, and I caught myself glancing over at him what felt like every other minute. He never noticed. He was a row in front of me and locked in on the lesson. I shook myself out of it and tried to focus as well.
Later that night, my phone lit up with his name. I nearly threw it across the room until I realized that of course, *idiot*, he’s setting up a time to work on the project. I responded quickly, rereading my message and overthinking how casually I could tell him my availability, and we set a time to meet at his apartment after our next class.
*Looking forward to it, Nadia*, his last text said.
My brain told me that meant that he thought I was a good partner for the project and was ready to work. My pussy told me that he was disastrously and irrevocably attracted to me, and would, of course, be railing the absolute hell out of me that day instead of getting any work done whatsoever.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I felt too warm, my sheets too suffocating, my skin too sensitive. I kept shifting around but every time my thighs slid past each other it only made my problem worse. Visions of his shoulders and his back, and my nails scratching lines across them, danced through my head. I thought about his hands sliding gently up my legs, his soft, confident voice taking on a commanding edge as he told me exactly what he wanted me to do. Exactly how he wanted me.
Fuck, he always spoke to me so calmly and kindly, I wanted him to tell me what to do to him *so fucking badly*. I *needed* it.
My hand made its way below my pajama shorts, finding my pussy. My fingers slid across my panties, pressing only gently through the fabric, teasing myself. I indulged in the dirty thoughts, too horny to care, imagining one of his arms behind my back as I laid down while his other hand started to explore me. I traced my body with my fingertips while I imagined him doing it, eyes closed, breath catching, pussy getting wetter by the second.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I paused barely long enough to get my shirt and shorts off and started tracing my fingertips across my naked body again. I circled my nipples softly, feeling them get hard, my back arching, pushing my tits up towards the ceiling as my other hand finally went to my bare pussy. I parted my lips gently, my fingers sliding easily across my wetness as I spread it up to my clit, starting to press firmer, starting to breathe harder, circling my clit, starting to moan. My thighs clenched momentarily around my hand as I pictured him sliding into me, his beautiful body on top of mine, his hips between my legs as he started to fuck me. I imagined his voice, imagined him telling me to roll over onto my stomach and take his cock.
I rolled over while I touched myself in response to his imagined command, thinking about that soft voice telling me what to do, gentle and commanding, getting turned on even more by it. It wasn’t long at all until I felt my orgasm start to build, heard him in my head saying, *cum for me, you deserve it, I know I feel so good in you, Nadia, that’s it, cum all over my cock,* until my core tightened and my legs flexed and my mouth opened in a breathless, silent moan as I came harder than I had in months.
Gasping quietly, shaking a little, the side of my face still pressed into my pillow, the wonderful post-orgasm warmth in my stomach slowly bleeding away, my body finally started to relax.
“Fuck,” I muttered out loud, resigned. This was going to make it really, really hard to act normal when I met him in a few days.